What Could Have Been
by Sardonic Irony
Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic. What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. What a surprise.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: Prologue

Word Count For Chapter: 1,578

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16, who have been my heroines, and have saved me from so many mistakes so thanks for all your hard work you two. Oh, and they're amazing authors so go read some of their fics. Now.

A/N: Okay, this is just the prologue so don't judge until first chapter comes out. The first chapter is already written and will be added in about a week or two. I would love to hear your thoughts. As a final note, thank you to all the people who left such great reviews on my oneshot, you all made my day(s).

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It was many long years ago when the three first met. A time when sorcerers walked freely, when magic was revered not reviled, loved not loathed, a time where Kings accepted those who could wield these unimaginable powers.

The three were the most powerful sorcerers of their age, or indeed of any age before. Their powers seemed to have no limits, no rivals unless it was that of another of the three. It was said that they were able to move a mountain if they combined their might. But alas, where companionship exists so does rivalry and from this, from the green fires of envy sprang the chill black of resentment and hate.

They first met during a time of great upheaval; a deadly pestilence swept the land, claiming lives with an unstoppable fury. Confusion swamped the peoples of Albion, lords, barons and kings secluded themselves and their families in the security of their castles, manor houses and other such strongholds. But for the common peoples, those less fortunate, there was no escape. The disease spread across the land, ravaging the peoples, killing indiscriminately. Panic and fear brewed deep within the heart, terror turning previously kind men into cruel husks of their former selves.

It was from this all-consuming, mind-shattering, terror and milling confusion that the three emerged, like guardian angels sent from the heavens; defenders of humanity. Their names were Alira, Vlinor and Gliral.

They themselves were immune to the disease: their powers so great that the infection could be purged from their systems. From the ashes of a dying civilisation they came, clutching a glowing crystal in the hand of Alira. They stood atop a steep sided hill, rain beating down on their faces, and they began to chant, a complex, smooth language flowing from their tongues like water. It was then that they each placed one hand on the glowing crystal, Alira raising it into the middle of the circle of bodies they had formed. The crystal glowed, three sets of eyes burning liquid golden fire, power seemed to flow from their being and then the crystal burned black, blacker than the darkest of nights, and then… then there was peace. Almighty, soul calming peace, and the people rejoiced.

Sorcerers came to them, bowing their heads in reverence, bending their pride into worship. Worship of their saviours. That is how the Old Religion began, the worship of the greatest sorcerers this world has ever seen. But this worship, this reverence didn't sit well with Alira and Vlinor who simply wished to retreat into the shadows, to care for the family they wished to raise together. But Gliral, the greatest of the three, wanted the opposite.

For some, power is an uncomfortable sore, a welt across their consciousness but for some... for some it is the ultimate desire, the highest ambition and Gliral was one such man. As his heart grew ever darker, followers flocked to him, drawn by his power and by his silver tongue which could charm many a soul.

And Vlinor and Alira vanished into the shadows, taking the crystal that carried that deadly disease with them.

It was as if a storm had broke, a furious tempest that lashed across the land, roiling fury that struck the world. Gliral had swept across the south of Albion, sorcerers fighting with him, an army of the dead covering his western flank. No-one could stop him, for who can stop the unstoppable? With a vengeance, with an ambition, rarely seen in this life Gliral crushed half of Albion beneath his might, raiding villages, taking women and casting his shadow across the populace.

It was then… then as their onetime friend savoured his successes, that Vlinor and Alira came. Once again standing to defend the world that had been so blessed to have them in it, like a phoenix rising from the ashes they came, a burning symbol of hope and power. And the people came, the sorcerers who had been brave enough to resist Gliral, the people who wished to protect their homes. An army of man ready and willing to do the bidding of their saviours.

And so, it was on a night where lighting lanced through the sky, when thunder rumbled ominously above that they confronted each other once more. Friends turned enemies. And as Vlinor and Alira gazed at Gliral immeasurable sadness passed between them for what could have been. For, now it was inevitable, at least one of them would die that night. And it was with this thought that Alira and Vlinor attacked, their powers united.

But Gliral was not the greatest of the three for no reason, with a simple wave of his hand, eyes glowing golden, shadows rose from the earth, absorbing the strike of compressed air that the two had sent at him. Without a flicker of movement Gliral caused the shadows to wrap into a thick snake. With a slight twist of his hand the snake lunged forwards crossing the distance between Gliral and his adversaries in seconds.

A blast of power tore through the shadow. Gliral shielded himself with a barrier of earth.

And so their battle continued, power emanating from the three in such copious amounts that the air itself seemed to shimmer. The battle shook the land, each strike like a thunderstorm and the true lightning forked across the pitch coloured sky.

It was as they began to tire that Vlinor and Alira realised they could not defeat Gliral, not in their current state, their powers were waning and his were not. They had to fall back on their last resort, the one move Gliral would never expect. They drew near and then, summoning all their power they sealed him within a prison, similar in execution as their imprisoning of the disease, they divided Gliral from his very own magic, sealing the power into a crystal that only he could break in order to release his power. Opening themselves up to the very flow of magic they bound him in a prison of their very magic, sealed in an endless slumber, trapped by their power, power which they had sacrificed their lives to summon up. And with that two of the three left this life, the third bound in an endless slumber from which he could not escape, his magic sealed in a crystal which could never be used by any but him, and below their armies still clashed.

Without Gliral, the sorcerers he had enlisted fell apart, and with them so did his army, Vlinor and Alira's warriors seizing the moment and routing their opposition.

When silence reigned once more,the army of Vlinor and Alira climbed the hill on which the three had fought, and on that site they built a great castle, an impenetrable fortress, a fort to protect the world from the evil that had destroyed their time. They resolved to worship the three, the three who had shown them the way through life, regardless of their end, and this worship of magic governed the land for many years. The religion was never aware of the family Vlinor and Alira had left behind, never knowing of the bastard child Gliral had fathered mere days before.

But now… now… I do, and I know that now the last two descendants of these great three wander the earth destined to be the greatest of lovers or the greatest of enemies.

Not that they know of this. Of course, how could they know? It would not suit my purpose to tell them… It could ruin everything I have planned for. So I leave them in ignorance, unknowing of that part of their destinies, and they continue to hate, as destiny weaves a web from which they cannot escape. So… Do they become the greatest of lovers or the greatest of enemies? That is their choice.

Unfortunately for them, I've already set them on the latter path.

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A/N: So? Any opinions? All reviews and comments appreciated.


	2. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin or the Fray, or the song All At Once. Please don't die of shock.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: 1

Word Count For Chapter: 3,209

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16. I owe the two of them huge, massive thank yous for all their work. I will say their constructive critique probably saved this chapter from the grammatical monstrosity it would have been had they not agreed to help me. They are both awesome writers. Go check out their fics, they're awesome! Go! Now! Before you even read this!

A/N: Well… This is the first full chapter so I'm rather tentative but I hope it pleases, particularly since I love this pairing so much and was dying for Merlin to confess. Thanks to all you wonderful people who reviewed the first chapter and/or my oneshot, you are all amazing. I would love to know your thoughts on this one.

* * *

"Sometimes the hardest thing

And the right thing are the same".

The Fray- All at Once

Panic, betrayal and desperation surged through his body; adrenaline flooded his veins, his conscious mind discarded for the moment.

His feet drummed heavily on the thick stone steps that led down to the crypt where the Lady Morgana undoubtedly awaited him. He could feel the magic; the sheer _power _radiating from the crypt. He had been able to feel it even from where he had been fighting out in the courtyard with Arthur. The power was so much like his own; neither dark nor light, but elements of both. He couldn't imagine where she had found so much power...

He vaulted two steps as he reached a small landing before the steps twisted; the narrow stairwell lit by the reddish, flickering light of the blazing torches. The walls seemed to close in on Merlin as he descended. If he had to guess he would say he had reached the ground level of the castle as the last torched blazed forlornly on the wall, a last watchmen on the edge of the gaping the darkness; the darkness that would swallow him as he chased the woman who was, according to Kilgharrah, his other half, the dark to his light, the hate to his love.

Having passed the final torch his body was consumed by the darkness, much like Morgana's heart had been, and as he rushed down the narrow steps the torch still flickered, barely disturbed by his passing.

* * *

He raced around a corner and into the crypt. His eyes immediately took in the room, rapidly flying across every detail: Morgana, standing tall and proud before a long staff jammed into the ground, a tile cracked beneath it. The faint bluish light that illuminated the crypt was being emitted by a small ball of energy contained within the centre of the top of the staff, which was ringed by small branches that sprouted from the edges of the staff.

Merlin could see there was a faint aura surrounding Morgana, a slight shimmer to the air around her. It flickered in the air around her, a faint veil of power. It could be nothing else but her magic. She was strong, but uncontrolled. He knew if it came to a fight he could beat her, probably, but he didn't want to fight her, not if he didn't have to. Why did everything come back to fighting? To hating? To sides? Why couldn't he and Morgana have stayed friends, why did a good woman turn bad? All of these questions were answered in one word. _Fate. _Fate had torn them Morgana apart, fate had forced them into this situation, and fate had decided they would be enemies long before he arrived in Camelot.

All of this unnecessary bloodshed, all of this depraved killing and hating for one ridiculous prophecy. Merlin allowed himself one moment of hate for the prediction that had led them here, before he pushed it to the side.

He skidded to a stop, pushing his turbulent thoughts to the side as Morgana whirled around, her black hair flying. Her normal attire, soft court gowns, was replaced by a stiff mail shirt, a gleaming ring of metal standing out at her waist level, and a long pair of leather pants which creaked slightly as she spun. Her normally soft, luxurious curls were tied savagely back into a long ponytail that trailed about halfway down her back. Her wrists were encased in metal gauntlets; her expression was one of coldness, of hate, but also, something… something just below the surface, something that when he looked her directly in the eyes she could barely hide, something he couldn't name.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, seconds blurred into what seemed like hours but was in reality only a mere minute. Morgana's lips were curled slightly at the edges, a smile, so close to a smirk. Still they didn't speak. Then Morgana broke the silence.

"You should leave now, while you still can."

There it was, she was offering him a way out, a measure of peace, and he understood, or at least he hoped he did. His heart thudded painfully, erratically. She was offering him escape; perhaps there was some piece of goodness left inside of her? The piece that made her Morgana, the piece that no-one could ever remove… But he couldn't leave, not now, not when people were dying. So, hardening his heart and schooling his face into an impassive expression, he disregarded the mixed feelings he held for the witch and he replied, his voice begging, _pleading _with her.

"Morgana. Please. I beg you."

And he was, he was begging, for the fact that they were once friends, for the fact that once she trusted him, that once he had protected her. His soul was in indescribable agony, to choose between Camelot and Morgana, friend or thousands of innocent lives. His destiny or his loyalty to his friends? His hand tightened almost imperceptibly on the hilt of the sword he had taken to fight one of Morgana's summoned skeletons.

There was an ominous, rumbling cracking sound from above, as if the very weight of Camelot was pressing down on the crypt. Both he and Morgana looked up breaking their eye contact. Merlin's heart was racing, hammering against his chest ceaselessly, uncontrolled, unfettered, unrestrained.

Merlin noticed a slow, almost smug smirk spreading across Morgana's face. The expression turned her face into one that was alien to him, for that one immeasurably long second she was no longer the women he had known at Camelot; she was someone else, someone cruel and hard. And he hated it, hated the jab of pain he felt in his heart, hated the lurch of his gut. So he moved, attempting to subtly shift around her.

But the minute he moved her attention snapped back to him, her now sly, cold eyes locking on him. They circled slightly, perfectly in time, predator and prey. The only question…. who was the prey?

Merlin didn't know what to do, she hadn't seemed moved by his last plea, in fact she hadn't even responded, he had to try again, he didn't want to hurt her. Wasn't sure if he could.

"Women and children are dying! The city will fall!"

Morgana's eyes narrowed, her face tightening. Her mouth curled slightly into a sneer, her now narrowed eyes were cold and deadly. Merlin's skin tingled as a faint, very weak pulse of magic came from her. He could feel her aura becoming stronger as she grew more emotional.

Her body was stiff, shoulders high, back ridged as she replied.

"Good."

Merlin's heart tore at the reply, fate had done this to her, turned her from loving healer to hate filled destroyer.

"No. You don't mean that."

Merlin weakly shook his head with this comment, there was no way she meant it… it would mean that she was no longer Morgana, no longer had that shred of goodness he so desperately hoped she possessed, because if she meant what she said… She was beyond redemption. No that was unthinkable.

"I have magic, Merlin. Uther hates me, and everyone like me. Why should I feel any different about him?"

Merlin's heart shattered, shattered with empathy, with sorrow, with pain. Her voice was so cold, but also bitter, self-mocking even. There was only one answer that presented itself to him, the most obvious, and the most truthful.

"You of all people could change Uther's mind. But doing this, using magic like this, will only harden his heart."

Morgana's mouth curled into a scornful smirk, her eyes glowing with disdain.

"You don't have magic Merlin. How could you hope to understand?"

Merlin's eyes narrowed. Here it was, the impasse. Could he tell her? Could he relieve her of her suffering as he should have done long ago? He should have guided her away from her hate, but he had abandoned her and he hated himself for it. So instead he sidestepped the unvoiced correction and answered her actual question.

"I do understand. Believe me, I do. You're scared. But that doesn't give you the right to kill innocent people."

Morgana's derisive sneer slackened slightly, as if that thought, the thought that she would be harming innocents hadn't occurred to her, then her lips twisted again.

"To kill someone like Uther sacrifices have to be made. After all…" And here her tone was cold, mocking and hard "if the fools wish to help him, help him kill those of my kind, are they truly innocent? Uther blindly kills my people. Why should I not do the same to his?"

"Because you're better than him! You're _so _much better than him. So he's a monster… by allowing yourself to become one you are becoming like him, letting him win, and letting yourself become worse than him. Can't you see? You of all people could change Uther's mind. But doing this… killing innocents… it's wrong and it will only make him hate magic all the more."

Morgana's eyes flickered, and before she could cover it up he saw into the hole, the crack in her mask. And he saw pain, pain and fear and he knew she had been lying, she did care, at least a bit. But then her expression grew derisive once more.

"You don't understand Merlin, you can't understand. You don't know what it is to be afraid of who you are, what it is to be an outcast. Uther would kill me for what I was born with, do you think I deserve to die for who I am?"

Merlin felt a great swell of compassion for his former friend.

"No. I don't think you deserve to die for who or what you are, but doing this… this is wrong. What has happened to you doesn't give you the right to kill who you wish, nor does the power you wield give you the right to do this."

"You don't have magic Merlin. How could you hope to understand?"

Merlin's head shook slightly and softly, oh so softly, he spoke. His tone was filled with immeasurable sadness.

"I do understand."

"You don't know what it is like to be an outsider. To be ashamed of how you were born, to have to hide who you are."

Merlin could feel the anger building up inside, he knew what was happening, Morgana had pushed and pushed, obviously enjoying the helplessness that was rolling off of Merlin. The one thing she didn't realise was that Merlin's patience was like a sapling, it bent and it bent but eventually it bent to far and then it… snapped.

"Yes I do. You feel so scared that you hate yourself, that bile rises in your throat when you look in the mirror. You feel so lonely that you think nobody would notice if you just… vanished." Merlin's voice broke off, his chest heaving with emotion. He took a deep, calming breathe before continuing in a calm, measured voice. "You fear getting close to someone because they may discover who you really are… because they may discover your magic. Yes I know what that feels like… I know how that feels… I know it; oh I know it well."

Merlin was silent as a gasp escaped Morgana's mouth. He could tell it was an involuntary sound, one of shock and surprise. Her eyes were wide and clouded, as if she was trying to understand, to process what he had said…

Then her eyes went hard.

"You lied to me. You betrayed me."

Her voice was hard and biting as if it contained the harsh edge of winter's chill. The words were a statement of fact, a bitter voicing of the truth; but Merlin was still silent. It had been necessary.

The unforgiving scrape of her sword being drawn filled the crypt.

"You had magic. You had magic all along and you never told me?"

"I'm sorry." The only problem with his voicing of this was that he wasn't sure he was. Could he be sorry to one who was prepared to kill thousands, could he be sorry for not spilling his secrets to one who had proved she couldn't be trusted?

Morgana's eyes were frozen, terrifying. His eyes were locked with hers, a void of coldness between them and then as his eyes dropped from her own orbs he watched as she shifted into a lower position, her sword raised slightly. The form was predatory, the grace with which she had adopted it and the ease with which she held it showed her to be one who had practised many times for many years with a blade.

His eyes once more held hers.

"What are you going to do? Kill me?"

Her eyes hardened even more.

"Don't think I won't."

And then she struck, her body springing out of its low position, her blade lashing out towards his neck, a lethal attack. He could barely keep up; she was so fast, so natural, so practised with the blade, his limited skill was no match.

Her sword whistled past his head, the steel gleaming in the blue light of the staff, he ducked away, his body spinning to gain extra distance.

His chest was heaving, she wouldn't give him time. His mind was running on adrenaline, he couldn't gain a moment to focus for a spell; she was simply too good with her sword.

She closed again, her blade darting forwards. Desperately he raised his sword, hoping he would be quick enough…

Blinding agony. His right thigh felt as if it was on fire; she had finally managed to get a hit, her blade had glanced the guard on his and only left a thin cut but it was long and still hurt like hell.

He had fallen to one knee, his injured one no longer supporting him. She advanced on him, cold anger in her bearing, in her expression. Her sword was raised slightly, he knew he had only a few seconds to act, his mind was too flooded by adrenaline to cast a spell. As she neared, he tensed the muscles in his good leg; he had only one chance.

When she got within range, he threw himself forwards; pushing off with his good leg. His shoulder drove into her stomach and from his position low on the floor he rammed the hilt of his weapon upwards into the hilt of her blade and with a huge surge of strength he flung both their weapons across the crypt.

She staggered back a step, now weaponless and Merlin was between her and the blades.

With the few seconds reprieve Merlin gathered his strength, hauling himself unstably to his feet by using an empty tomb as a stabilizer. He fixed her with a gaze. Her eyes were trained on his. He looked her deep in the eyes, ignoring the warm blood that ran down his sliced thigh.

"Help me." Merlin's voice was soft, pleading.

Her eyes shot open wide, he could almost feel the surprise and confusion radiating from her.

"What?" Her voice was weak, confused.

He fixed his blue eyes on her beautiful green eyes. He willed her to see how much he needed her… how much he wanted her back… how much he wanted to save her…

"Help me. Help me protect Camelot."

And there it was, the statement, what would be his greatest wish, he was tired of fighting of one who he had once called friend.

Seeing her hesitate he went on.

"Here you would be praised not cursed; here you could protect not destroy; here you would be loved, not despised. We need you Morgana; you could do so much to help. You may not be recognized now, nor praised. But one day… one day Arthur will be king and magic _can _return. Surely it is better to hope for the future than to bathe the present in blood? Do you truly want to be this person Morgana? This murderer? Stealing lives of innocents to get at one man? Is that who you truly want to be?"

He could see her inner conflict, her battle within her own mind. What happened next could change the future of Camelot, of Albion.

He watched as her eyes hardened with determination. She had obviously made a choice.

She strode towards him. He didn't try and stop her, he was confidant he could fight her magic, confidant he would sense it should hers make a sudden rise. She stood before him, eyes locked with his.

Wordlessly she slipped her arm underneath his, supporting him. He tensed at the contact but he willingly leant on her as they moved towards the swords, he had no choice, they'd do this together or not at all.

He watched as slowly she leant down and picked up her sword from where it lay on the floor and advanced on the long wooden rod, his body leaning slightly on hers. As they reached the wooden staff the ball of energy it was fuelling bathed them in a soft light. Then he watched as she drew back the sword, its silver blade turning to liquid mercury in the staff's luminance. He slipped his hands over hers and he was surprised at the warmth that spread from the point of contact but he shrugged it off. He channelled power into their joined hands, and he felt her power join with his, small for the moment but potent.

Then he breathed two words.

"Snee Das"

The sword slashed.

The staff was rent in two and Merlin's hands released hers. He ignored the chill that seemed to encompass his hands without the contact.

Then, in pitch black darkness he felt her turn; turn so she was facing him, her mouth hovering just next to his ear so she could whisper.

"You have my help but you don't have my forgiveness."

Then she was gone.

* * *

Slowly, Merlin dragged himself up the stairs from the crypt; he had healed his wound but he was no master of healing, even with magic. The spot would still be tender for days. His eyes were blank as he climbed, Morgana's words repeating themselves over and over again in his mind.

Neither he nor Morgana ever heard the faint rumble that came from below as something shifted slightly in restless slumber.

* * *

A/N: So… what did you think? All comments will be appreciated.


	3. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Yep, I could just _feel _your shock.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: 2

Word Count For Chapter: 3,887

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16, my saviours.

A/N: Hey people. I know its been a long time. Sorry about the delay but my laptop has packed up. This chapter is the by-product of a great deal of hard work trying to persuade someone to let me borrow theirs. Because of the absence of a laptop and the fact that i have exams in a few days the next chapter may also be greatly delayed. Despite that i hope you can forgive me. So back onto Chapter 2. My god, this was a hard one to finish writing, I had already written what I thought would be chapter 2 so this was bit of writing on the fly but for writing it like that I think it fits the fic surprisingly well. Still the fact that I was writing without any serious guideline meant it took hours, I was typing at 3:30 am in fact. Still I am finally done and am now writing this. I hope the chapter is good; I am slightly worried about the characterisation so please any feedback on that would be appreciated. In fact any feedback would be great. Thanks. You're all awesome. Crisis.

* * *

_Thunk._

The axe connected with the tree's trunk with a dull thud. Sweat slid down Merlin's back as he heaved a deep breath. All around came the repetitive, mind-dulling sound of similar axes hitting the trunks of similar trees. The sound surrounded him, much like the smell of damp earth and sap seemed to pervade his nostrils.

They were on the south-western fringe of the great forest that surrounded Camelot. 'They' encompassed the hundred-strong group of servants who had been sent here and the fifteen knights that rode with them. They were here to collect wood that would be used in the rebuilding of their city.

Camelot was a ruin; that was undeniable. The lower town had been hit the hardest by Cenred's invasion attempt, but parts of the upper town had also been destroyed. It had taken a surprisingly eloquent plea from Arthur to the King, before Uther would agree to using some of his knights in the gathering of wood to rebuild the town.

Merlin had to admit, although he never would tell Arthur, that the plea _had _impressed him. He didn't even know that Arthur _knew _so many words. _He probably had Morgana tell him what to say. _Merlin thought cynically. It really wouldn't surprise him. After all, playing upon Uther's love for strength by telling him that this would make them look powerful to their enemies was a stroke of genius. One which, Merlin decided, Arthur was _not _capable of coming up with on his own. It definitely had Morgana written all over it.

Immediately Merlin schooled his features, clearing his mind. Thoughts of Morgana were never good these days, but then again they hadn't been for over a year. They seldom saw each other in the castle, probably due to the fact that Merlin avoided her like the plague, and he assumed she was doing the same to him. They had only spoken once during the five days that had passed since they had confronted each other in the crypt. That conversation had amounted to no more than a quick 'My Lady' and a cold, neutral 'Merlin' to satisfy propriety and appearances. He wondered if that even counted as a conversation.

Still, her name stirred a bit of worry within him, a huge pool of fear. Would she tell Uther his secret? He had considered that scenario many times over the past five days and he always came to the same conclusion of what he'd do if that happened. Leave. He would have no choice. as if Uther would believe anything he said against that of 'Lady Morgana' the loving ward. The King would issue the orders for his execution before he could protest. Not even Arthur would be able to stop Uther and then Merlin would have to fight every last knight of Camelot to make his escape.

The thought brought a stomach-churning fear to him. Not so much for himself but for Camelot and everyone he loved within it, for, with him gone who would protect it? He knew the answer: nobody. Oh, Arthur would try, but without Merlin how could he beat Morgause? The answer was once again simple. Arthur couldn't beat her… not without a sorcerer of some form to help him.

And all this was linked to Morgana. The fate of Camelot, resting on the shoulders of a woman who had wanted nothing more than to see it in ruins no less than five days ago. Why had he told her? It was an idiotic thing to do, Gaius was right; he should have kept quiet… he had been lying for years, in Ealdor, and here, why couldn't he have carried on? One moment of weakness and he had risked Camelot, the greatest prize of all on his faith in a woman who he had been wrong about before.

He was an idiot.

His stomach lurched, the fear driving bile up into his mouth; thousands of innocent lives because he hadn't had the strength to keep lying… he couldn't do this… couldn't keep thinking… so he pulled on the axe, drawing it again from where it was still embedded within the trunk of the ridiculously thick trunk. There was a numbness in work, a blissful relief from his circling thoughts. An escape from the fear, fear for the lives of the innocents he had potentially led to the slaughter…

_Thunk_

The axe hit the trunk again, the sound calming Merlin's thoughts, numbing his conscience, silencing the questions…

* * *

Merlin climbed onto the back of the horse, his feet finding the stirrups. By now it was all one movement, a natural, easy action, he could probably do it with his eyes closed. Although he didn't think he wanted to try. Why give Arthur another weapon to tease him with? It wasn't worth it.

The horse snorted as a group of knights strode past, the smell of freshly polished mail assaulting Merlin's sense of smell. The sun shone brightly onto the gleaming metal and Merlin had to avert his gaze as the sunlight reflected harshly into his eyes.

Blinking away tears of pain caused by the lights brightness, Merlin glanced back as the third of the knights who he and Arthur would be riding with, mounted his horse. Merlin watched as the knights boots collided roughly with the horses flank. The horse shied, letting out a small cry of alarm. Merlin felt his horse respond to the call, skipping a couple of steps forward. Merlin leant down and muttered a few nonsensical reassurances to it, clearing it of its skittishness. Men in armour should be more considerate of horses he decided.

"Merlin?"

His head shot up as Arthur called his name. The prince's tone was mocking and sardonic. Merlin saw the prince and the three knights a few yards ahead of him, evidently waiting for him.

Merlin flushed.

"Sometime today? You know… whenever it's convenient for you…"

Merlin nodded sheepishly, lowering his head and urging his horse forward. Normally he would have had some kind of remark to throw back at the prince but at that moment he was still preoccupied by the fact that his eyes were stinging.

Arthur seemed to be stunned by Merlin's lack of remark and this Merlin took _some _satisfaction in. But the ever arrogant prince quickly recovered, smiling smugly, obviously he thought he had won or something. Merlin could barely keep from sighing in exasperation.

Instead he kept silent as he and his four companions rode out from Camelot's large gate. Patrol duty _again_. This time Merlin did sigh…

* * *

The smell of sweat pervaded the air, droplets of the salty substance running down the horse's flank. In single file the five horses slowly moved down the thin pathway that ran adjacent to the large hill to their right. They had been riding for over an hour now.

The sun hung high in the sky, its heated rays shining down over the mostly flat land on which they currently rode. The heat made Merlin intensely uncomfortable even though he was technically not doing all that much exercise and not really wearing that many layers. He had to wonder how the knights and Arthur managed to cope; beneath all that weight and stifling metal they must be baking. The horses spread out as Arthur raised his hand, a silent order. This was simply to test the patrol's responsiveness and alertness, to make sure they hadn't zoned off somewhere. Merlin wouldn't have blamed them if they had.

Patrol duty. He hated it, hated the monotony of the ride. None of the patrols had seen any members of Cenred's army. The first few had found a few signs of their passage; an abandoned campsite, a hastily and so not completely, banked fire. But since then… nothing.

Normally Arthur wouldn't have been allowed to lead these patrols but he had once again won Uther over with a carefully constructed argument. No doubt that one had been constructed by Morgana as well.

_Morgana._

And once again that terror, that coldness; that petrifying, limb-freezing, skin-chilling, _fear_ swamped him. It seemed to surround him, a pack of starving wolves that had finally cornered their prey; it seemed to drive him to the floor, burying him, driving all the air out of his lungs…

"Merlin?"

Once again his master's voice had broken through his thoughts, he wondered if fate had it in for him, after all, did the prince _have _to call every time he was preoccupied?

"Yes?"

Merlin watched with a resigned feeling growing in his chest as the prince sighed, glancing around. Arthur pointed towards the cover of a small group of trees a half mile ahead. Merlin could see the expanse of a small lake through the gaps in the rather stunted willows.

"We'll make camp there while you three gather some water."

As Arthur spoke he pointed to the knights. Normally the knights would have argued, after all, Merlin knew that gathering water was a servant's task, and since they had one with them why should they do the work? Or at least, they would have argued if it had been anyone other than a royal giving the order. Merlin couldn't help but be amused as three nobles were tasked with a servant's duty and they couldn't even complain.

Merlin lightly kicked his heels into his horses flank, following and matching Arthur's pace as the group of five rode hastily for the willow grove.

When they got about halfway into the small copse Arthur reigned in his horse.

"This is far enough; you three go on ahead, we'll join you in a minute."

One of the three knights nodded in understanding before riding away, his two peers following him.

Then Arthur dismounted. Merlin copied him, sliding smoothly from the horse. At least it was smooth until he hit the floor, where he landed on a loose stone. The stone slid beneath his weight and he felt himself falling backwards. He only had time to curse once in his head before he hit the floor.

The mud splattered all up his jacket, the sodden earth churned up by the passing of the five horses. As the dirt covered his body Merlin sighed, it pretty much summed up his day.

He heard Arthur move to stand over him.

"Merlin."

"Yes?" Came his muffled reply

"Get up."

"I'm quite comfortable here thanks. You know, it's kind of warm when you get used to it."

"Merlin."

"Fine, I'm getting up."

Merlin made no move to do so, despite his words. He heard Arthur sigh, a muttered word that sounded suspiciously like 'idiot' falling from his lips. Then Merlin felt Arthur's arm wrap around one of his own, dragging him from the mud to his feet.

Merlin flashed Arthur a mockingly innocent smile.

"See? Told you I was getting up."

Arthur glared at him.

Merlin spun around, surveying the area where they had stopped, checking and confirming that as he had thought there was nothing particularly special about the place.

"So… why did we stop here? I mean there's nothing special about the place. Unless of course you count a root shaped like that sylverian water kral that tried to kill us as 'special' because if you do you may have-"

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"I've seen the root. We stopped here because I want to know what's going on with you, you're acting even more incompetent than normal and I wasn't even sure that was _possible._ What has had you acting like a total idiot instead of a partial one lately?"

_Oh just the relatively _small _fact that I bet your life and the lives of many of the people within Camelot on your semi-adopted sister, who incidentally has magic and would have loved to kill us just five days ago. Because if she tells Uther that I have magic and I die then so will you and Camelot. Oh yes… Did I mention the part where I have magic as well? _Merlin's thoughts were viciously sarcastic and although that reply would have been intensely satisfying; having his body burned to ash would invariably ruin the satisfaction so he replied with his usual mocking innocence.

"The weather."

"The _weather_?"

Arthur's tone was disbelieving, and he spoke slowly and deliberately, his words carrying a curious weight.

"Yes. The weather. You know that thing that involves, rain, the sun, or wind?"

"Funnily enough I am well aware of what the weather is."

"That's great news for you. I am sure that I have a medal somewhere. Just give me a minute to look for it…"

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Not funny."

"Right."

"In all seriousness what _has _got you acting so strangely?"

Merlin didn't hesitate.

"Socks."

Merlin almost smiled as Arthur gave a resigned sigh.

"Let's go find the others."

Merlin nodded in agreement, climbing back onto his horse as he and Arthur rode in silence. As they followed a path between two of the larger trees, weaving past the next set of three and nearing the last line of willows, Arthur turned to him again.

"Is it a girl?"

Merlin sighed; he should have known that Arthur wouldn't give up so easily. Invariably his mind came up with another sarcastic response: _yes, it _is _a girl causing me to act strange, your adoptive sister to be precise, but not in the romantic way. Just in the simple way that she has my future in Camelot in her hands. Other than that I am wonderful and acting totally normal._

Instead he replied in a much more effective and almost as satisfying way.

"How's Gwen?"

Arthur flushed red; Merlin could see the small slightly goofy grin that threatened to break out on the Prince's lips.

That was all it took. Merlin burst out laughing.

Arthur turned a scowl on him, his eyes flames of irritation.

"MERLIN?"

It was a moment before Merlin could reply as he let his amusement subside, his laughter dying down.

"Yes?"

"Shut up."

"Okay."

They reached the break in the trees, rejoining the three knights and collecting their now full waterskins.

Neither Merlin nor Arthur spoke again of the subject they had been discussing throughout the rest of the patrol.

* * *

Merlin crashed down onto the bed, his body aching all over. His backside hurt more than anything else though, a half day on a horse _really _was not an advisable health option, or at least it wasn't for anyone who wanted to not have an aching backside.

He groaned as the impact with the bed sent a pang through his aching muscles. The pain really wasn't conducive to sleep and Merlin needed sleep, it had been so hard to come by over the last five days.

He rolled over, and discarded his jacket on the floor, tossing it carelessly into the corner of the room. Then he lay back down, resting his head on the straw stuffed pillow. The smell of the straw filling his senses connected his thoughts to the horses stables which also smelled like this, of course that was only after he had mucked it out. The thoughts of the stables inevitably drew him back to thinking of horses, which brought him back to the aching pain. He moaned in annoyance and turned onto his other side in a futile gesture of annoyance. He ignored the pain that tore through his muscles. This was why he hated patrols.

He closed his eyes, shutting himself in darkness. The only problem with this was that in the darkness is where man's fears come alive, some to stalk the waking mind of those who carry fear, those who carry guilt, those who carry pain. And Merlin's fear was greater than many others, for he wasn't sure he could trust her, wasn't sure he could believe in her. He shouldn't have told her.

And it had begun again; he was back in his nightmare, his torment, and he was alone to face it and no magic would help him. Here he was powerless, and he couldn't stop the flow of images.

_He was fleeing the castle, knights fallen all around, he had no idea if they were still alive. _

_He saw a group of people within Camelot, murmuring that he should never have been trusted._

_Uther dead, Morgana having driven a sword through his gut._

_Arthur dead by Mordred's hand as the little boy stabbed the Prince._

_Morgause and Cenred raiding Camelot._

_Innocents dying, houses burning and death all around, all-encompassing, unavoidable._

Merlin's eyes opened. He knew they weren't visions, not like Morgana had, but they were the figments of his tortured mind, the imaginings of what could happen should Morgana tell Uther, the terrifying constructs of his subconscious. And all because he had been weak. He should never have told her, should have heeded Gaius and Kilgharrah. He should have left her in the dark.

But he _had _told her and now he was stuck. He needed to know if he could trust her, and the only way to find that out… And like that it was decided. Tomorrow he would confront Morgana…

And with that decision made sleep truly claimed him for the first time in five days.

* * *

He awoke late; sleep having finally claimed him he hadn't awoken when he should. He glanced out of his window at the sun which hung high in the sky. He was late by about a half hour. If he moved quickly enough he could get to Prince Arthur's rooms before it really mattered.

He threw on his jacket and bolted out of the room, hurtling through the castle corridors.

He reached Arthur's door out of breath and gasping for air but only forty minutes late. That wasn't too bad; the prince had weapons practise in a half hour so he would be angry but not furious.

Merlin opened the door and rather quickly hurried to the far wall, opening the curtains. He slid Arthur's breakfast onto the table. The prince had stirred when light had slanted onto his face from window. He groaned which made Merlin chuckle. Arthur was _not _a morning person. The prince turned groggily to the window, glancing at the sun which immediately woke him up.

"_Merlin_. How late are you?"

Arthur's tone was deadly calm.

"About forty minutes, sire."

Arthur frowned. It was all the warning Merlin had as Arthur launched a pillow at him. The soft pillow connected with his face.

"Merlin. You idiot. I have weapons practise in ten minutes."

"Calm down. Sir Leon asked to have it put back twenty minutes remember?"

"Ah. Yes. I remember now."

"Glad to hear it. Would you like your pillow back?"

"I'll think about it."

Merlin frowned.

"Idiot." This last comment was made in a whisper.

"Sorry?" Arthur commented.

"I said is it fit?"

Merlin gestured towards the plate that held Arthur's breakfast, barely keeping a grin from his lips at his quick thinking.

Arthur looked at him oddly before simply nodding.

Merlin glanced out the window. What he saw stopped all thoughts of a grin. Morgana would probably be finishing the morning meal she had had with Uther everyday since her return. He had to hurry. He didn't realise Arthur had been speaking.

"-while you're at it you could run me a bath-"

Merlin held up one finger.

"Hold that thought, I'll be back in a minute."

Merlin raced out of the door before Arthur could protest.

* * *

This time it was he who stood in the alcove, silent, watchful. He knew she would come by here on her way back to her rooms. She always did.

He didn't have to wait long. It was only a few more minutes before he heard her soft footsteps tapping against the stone floor. It was a small sound but a definite sound nonetheless.

When she walked passed he was ready. His hand shot out, grabbing her by the elbow and dragging her into the same alcove she had dragged him into twice now.

Her eyes were wide for a second, stunned by the suddenness of this. And then the beautiful emerald orbs hardened. They once again became clouded pools of coldness.

"What do you want?" Her words were cold, almost cruel.

"Can I trust you?"

She seemed surprised for one instant but then a mocking smile appeared on her face.

"I don't know. Can you?"

"I wouldn't be asking if I could answer that."

"Well then. Good luck with that."

Morgana turned to leave but Merlin blocked her path.

"Tell me. Can I trust you? Or so help me I'll-"

He was cut off by Morgana's harsh, bitter laugh.

"Or you'll what? Try to kill me? You've already done that remember? Hemlock really is a charming concoction."

Merlin narrowed his eyes.

"It was necessary."

Merlin kept his eyes trained on hers. Morgana's eyes were chilling glaciers, frigid, entrancing icebergs.

"Maybe I should finish what I started in the crypt."

"I'd like to see you try."

A humourless laugh escaped Morgana's throat.

"You doubt my powers?"

Merlin's eyes were chips of granite, hard and unreadable.

"You doubt mine?"

Merlin watched as Morgana's eyes became unreadable and she silently turned to walk away. She stepped past him but suddenly he whirled around, his hand grabbing her right upper arm. His eyes were wild, desperate.

"Morgana. Answer me. Can I trust you?"

Merlin waited as Morgana turned her head to face him, her eyes locking with his. Her emerald eyes were full of chilling warning, telling him to release her. He complied, letting loose his grip on her arm. Then she looked directly into his eyes, a bitter tilt curled her lip as she spoke.

"You can trust me Merlin. You know you can."

A bitter, contemptuous, mocking smirk now crossed her face as she echoed his own words when she had come to him, confided in him. And Merlin knew what she was doing; she was echoing his own words on purpose.

Then, with his own words now ringing in his ears she turned and walked away from him. And still he held the question. Could he trust her?

* * *

A/N: Well there we go, I had huge problems with FF formatting by scene break lines out so I am desperately hoping this has worked... Anyway, R&R people. Please.

IMPORTANT NOTE: On the subject of BETAs, I need a new one. Mnemosyne77 has suffered an injury and Brickroad16 while totally awesome is very busy. I still have her but I am also wondering if anyone is interested in helping me a bit. My biggest issues are grammar and occasionally plot. I sometimes need to run elements of the plot past the BETA to get another opinion. I also have a oneshot that needs some work that I have finished but need to have another viewpoint to confer with. I want someone who can be critical and if necessary blunt. If something sucks I need to know that, if something's good I want to know that. Anyway, if you're interested contact me via PM.


	4. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Amazing huh?

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: 3

Word Count For Chapter: 4,355

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETAs: The Ashes Fan, Mnemosyne77 and brickroad16

A/N: Really really sorry about how long this has taken! I have had exams and RL is being difficult at the minute. I'll try and impprove on the update time next time. Anyway here we go again. First non-Merlin POV, but a lot of you will hopefully be happy, Morgana's turn to be in the spotlight. Anyway I would like to thank my brilliant new BETA – The Ashes Fan, who has helped me immensely. Thanks so much for all your time and effort. Also thanks to all of you people who have reviewed so far and I hope that trend continues. Thanks again, Crisis.

* * *

Her dreams were disturbed, chaotic, but thankfully not, as far as she knew, visions. They were too jumbled, too random, and too fuzzy. When she had her visions the pictures were clear. Confused? Yes. But clear. And these… these weren't. The visions were scattered, random. She'd be in a field then looking down on Camelot with its huge turrets and impenetrable citadel but throughout it all… throughout it all, his presence, his overwhelming, _hateful _presence. She hated it, even in her dreams she couldn't escape it, couldn't fight it. It was a constant reminder; a welt on her ordinarily invincible emotional armour, a gaping hole in her mental stability

The presence surrounded her, the presence of the one she hated. She hated him for so many reasons. The new one, the fact that he had hidden his magic from her, was just second aside to the fact that he had tried to kill her. The man who had seemed so innocent and kind before had now been exposed as liar, a betrayer and yet he held her loyalties, fragile though they were. For, he had been right. He was always right about that kind of thing. She did not _want _to be a murderer and she had been oh so close to becoming one. He had changed her mind though. He had shifted her perspective, turned her world upside down and for that she held resentment for him. Who was he to do that to her? So now she reluctantly gave her loyalty to him despite the fact that she hated him. After all, loyalty and liking someone were completely different things.

And then she was there, in the middle of the courtyard, surrounded by his presence, the presence which drove an icy bolt of fury and bitterness through her. She was facing him, gazing into his endless blue eyes, eyes flecked with gold, eyes that stirred the hate within her. Here was the man who had forced her out of her world of black and white, of good and bad, of light and dark. He had forced her to see in shades of grey, to re-evaluate the world she thought she had known, to second guess everything. And she hated him for it.

"My Lady?"

A pair of callused hands shook her shoulder gently, softly. Morgana knew who it was that was disturbing her sleep. _Gwen. _Her ever loyal maidservant, her maidservant who didn't know the true her, no-one did, no-one except _him. _Even Morgause and Mordred, those she had called family for a year didn't know her fully, they didn't truly know the compassionate, caring side but Merlin, Merlin knew both sides, and she resented him for it. It was unfair she knew, but never before had someone managed to delve so deep into her character and she didn't like it. She didn't like it at all.

"My Lady?"

There was Gwen's call again, and Morgana felt herself losing her dream, losing his hateful presence, losing his mesmerising eyes. How could one servant be so full of surprises, so full of contradictions? How could he possess magic and yet still defend Uther? She wondered if she would ever understand Merlin. He was a puzzle, a shell of light with a hateful darkness beneath. She felt Gwen give her another soft shake and she knew that it was time to rise. She sighed and through half open eyes glared at Gwen, her eyes gave her away though, they were dancing in amusement.

Gwen smiled prettily at her.

"Awake now?"

Morgana sighed; her countenance darkening as she once again remembered Merlin. He had betrayed her, lied to her, and hidden the truth from her. But still, she had promised to defend Camelot, and Morgana didn't want to lose the little bit of herself that she had regained, the bit that could _feel_. Why she had promised she would never know, but she had and she would do it, and by the heavens she would do it _well. _

She glanced up at Gwen whose smile had faded; the maidservant was now watching Morgana with a slight frown creasing her beautiful features. Morgana knew she was worried. So she smiled, a perfectly faked smile, one attained by hours practising in the mirror, and through endless hours of sitting in on the court. _The court… _Morgana groaned, a sound of irritation and boredom, one she knew she would inwardly be making a great many times that morning, because, once again; Uther had called a meeting of the court, which really meant that he would call all his persons of import and talk of meaningless things… Uther has judged that since it has been eight days since the attack a court meeting would be a good idea. Morgana couldn't have disagreed more. But she, out of good courtesy, would have to attend… not only would she have to attend but she'd have to plaster a fake smile on her face and please the crowd of nobles that would be there.

And now Gwen's smile had returned full force because she could obviously tell what Morgana was thinking.

"Is court so bad, My Lady?"

Almost any servant, except maybe Merlin, could have been executed for such an invasive comment, for a servant to ask a Lady of import to comment on others of such standing was unthinkable but Morgana appreciated Gwen's honesty. They were more friends than mistress and servant, or they had been until Morgana had gone with Morgause. When she had returned there had been a divide, an un-crossable divide that hadn't been there before. But now, it was as if there was a thin beam across the crevice, small, but steady, the bit of her that she had managed to salvage calling out to her friend. For that was what they were; they were friends. Although when the day ended Gwen was still the one with callused hands. Pushing such thoughts from her mind Morgana smiled at Gwen, and this time she didn't have to fake it.

"Oh no! I _so _enjoy smiling winsomely at the many ridiculous, metal minded buffoons who call themselves knights. It's so much _fun_!" Morgana gave an over staged girlish giggle while she fluttered her eyelashes at Gwen. The maidservant only held her gaze for a second before she burst into giggles, Morgana soon following.

Tears ran down Gwen's face. Perhaps it really hadn't been that funny, but in the face of the destruction Cenred's attack had caused, in the face of the dark times Camelot had endured, any moment of levity seemed to be so much more appreciated than normal. As her mirth died down Morgana looked at Gwen who was rubbing away the remnants of her laughter induced tears. Morgana watched as Gwen visibly calmed herself down, took a breath and then spoke.

"Had we better pick you out a dress, My Lady?"

Morgana nodded reluctantly. She rose from the bed and then stepped forwards allowing Gwen to immediately busy herself with pushing the pale lilac sheets back into some semblance of order. Morgana's night time dream wanderings tended to mean that the blankets and sheets took a rather painful beating. _Honestly _she thought _Gwen is a miracle worker. _The irony of a magic user thinking that only occurred to her after she'd had the thought.

She glanced to the bedside where a now empty bottle stood. It was a sleeping draught that Gaius had prepared for her four days ago after she had had her 'talk' with Merlin. She would have to send Gwen to get some more soon, because she needed to get some sleep before the visions or nightmares returned to her. She had thrown the charm bracelet into a lake nearby after her confrontation with Merlin; she had no idea what spells could potentially be on it. It was also an act of symbolism to her, throwing of the vestiges of who she had been eight days ago. However while the psychical marks of who she had been were easy to remove, the mental marks, the emotional wounds were harder to remove.

Shaking the thought off, she moved towards her huge oak wood wardrobe. The wooden behemoth had been a gift to her from Uther for her 16th birthday; it was the only one of his gifts that she used. Unfortunately the wardrobe stood adjacent to the large, long window that looked out over the wide courtyard, which, even at this time, was milling with people. The expressions of these people, unknowingly being watched had always fascinated her, the play of expressions across a person's face, the way one could shift to happiness to anger, from bitterness to joy, from being troubled to looking resolute, it entranced her.

As a teenaged girl, a small figure in a very big and intimidating new castle, she had become mesmerized by the court, and she had kept quiet, studying people; the way they thought, what made them tick. And then she used it, used the knowledge to get what she wanted.

As a girl she had used this study, this knowledge to acquire new dresses or a horse from her father. A few years ago she had played on Arthur's weak points in order to convince him to do the right thing. Just a few days ago she had been using the power this understanding gave her to worm her way back into the castle, to acquire the King's deepest trust.

She had always watched, she understood what she saw and then, when she was sure of her position, she could subtly utilize the power the comprehension had given her. Maybe this long study was why her own emotional mask was so firmly fixed, so unbreakable, unless your name happened to be Merlin and you had magic and oversized ears. She sighed. When had the problems of the world become so weighty, so inescapable?

It was then, when Morgana was lamenting the loss of innocence, the loss of the ease with which her life had flowed, that there was break in the crowd, a void, a gaping hole on the left side of the courtyard, and just as sod's law dictated, who was to fill that gap but the object of part of her lamentation? A head of black hair, troubled, clouded blue eyes that were flecked with gold and oversized ears. _Merlin. _

Something within Morgana turned to ice at the side of him, he had betrayed her, he had lied to her, and she hadn't forgiven him, yes she would help him, but forgive him?

That was another matter altogether. A group from within the crowd began moving to the left sided exit from the courtyard and just then, just before he was swallowed by the crowd he glanced up at her window, and he met Morgana's eyes and once more her eyes locked with his frosty, cold eyes, mirroring her own orbs. And then he was gone. Sighing once again, Morgana turned back to the wardrobe, totally oblivious to Gwen's intense, watchful gaze which was fixed on her mistress' back.

The next hour was lost in swirls of fabric and colour; giggles filled the room as Morgana tried on dress after dress, shade after shade of beautiful, stunning fabric and cast away each one. Glancing out of the window; Morgana saw the sun was fairly high in the sky. She only had a half hour at best. And she was left with a choice of two dresses. One was a bright shade of green and one, one was a deep reddish brown, maroon she supposed, in colour, the same one she had worn to the ball, Merlin's first day in Camelot she recalled.

She seemed to remember a new servant with his mouth left hanging open. And that decided it, she reached for the gown.

If she was going to attend this sodding gathering and the feast that was annoyingly likely to follow it she was going to do it in style, she was going to do it right. And… if, on the almost certain possibility that Merlin _was _there then the fact that she would stun him to silence had no effect on her choice of outfit… The possibility that she could have power over the man who had betrayed her had _nothing _to do with it… nope… nothing at all. And if she could silence even a few of those idiotic prats that called themselves warriors then that might increase the intelligence of a few of her conversations immeasurably. Morgana loved power, and her beauty was just one way of getting it.

So as she retreated behind the screen that stood against her back wall, as Gwen passed the chosen dress over said divider Morgana dressed herself up mentally as well. No longer was she Morgana the sorceress, Morgana the rage ridden, Morgana the vulnerable, no… now she was The Lady Morgana, invincible, impenetrable, and untouchable.

She walked from behind the screen, immeasurably beautiful and enchanting. She was ready for the court, mentally and psychically. But as she left her room she couldn't help but yearn for the dream she had left behind, for the gaze of those gold flecked deep blue eyes, the ones that let her be free to hate.

* * *

"Rise Sir Osilon, son of Benedrick Osilon, Knight of Camelot."

Uther's voice was clipped, arrogant and smug. That was what passed for a warm tone coming from the king. Sir Osilon immediately obeyed his King's orders, rising from the floor where he had kneeled before his ruler.

Morgana's smile was wide, perfect, and pristine from where she sat on her ornately carved chair which sat to the left of Uther's. No-one noticed how her smile didn't reach her eyes, how those same emerald orbs were not shining with their usual light, no-one ever could, no-one except Merlin, and he wasn't here right now. Arthur was, but his manservant was consciously absent.

This frustrated the already irritated Lady to her wits end. She had worn this bloody dress to stun him; to force him beneath her power but how could he be stunned if he wasn't here? She realised she was mentally wailing like a petulant child but she didn't care. The point was she was going to have to 'enjoy' having the 'pleasure' of one of Uther's feasts and she now couldn't savour the look on Merlin's face, the power and satisfaction that would give her.

When the newly knighted Sir Osilon had retreated a few paces to stand within the ranks of the Knights of Camelot, taking a position between Sir Leon and Sir Pellinor, Uther raised a hand in what she gathered he thought was gentle benediction; it just made her hate him all the more. But she had promised Merlin, Merlin who wasn't _here_… And like that her ire rose again.

"Friends," Uther began and Morgana had to repress a snort. How many here could legitimately say that they were 'friends' with Uther? Only Gaius could, and his 'friendship' with Uther was tenuous at best.

"We are here today to celebrate the knighting of a new defender for our great walls, a new protector of the people, a new force to bring us yet more honour. But we are also here to celebrate the defence of these very walls, which our warriors fought so hard for. We are here to rejoice in the impregnability of our fortress and the resilience of our knights. To feast and laugh as we once did, to enjoy ourselves for one day in remembrance of a proud fight hard won. So, friends, feast, drink, and exult. To Camelot!"

And as Uther raised the goblet he had taken from the High Table, Morgana could have laughed. Uther may be a murder, may be a paranoid bitter husk of a man but he _was _smart. Uther knew. He knew very well, that if he had the Knights of Camelot on his side then no-one could challenge him. No-one could pose a threat to him. Not from within his own kingdom, and as Cenred had proved, outsiders had very little chance of succeeding. Morgana knew that in his eyes, Uther thought that he was as impregnable as this fortress. His pretty speech to earn the loyalty of the knights made Morgana hate him, want him dead. How dare he laugh and smile when he killed so many? But her promise to the absent manservant stayed her temper.

Thankfully she would be able to enjoy the feast in relative comfort as Uther would simply put her next to himself and one of the knights, and she was more than adept at freezing out any knight. The only person she couldn't freeze out, the person she couldn't hide her thoughts and emotions from, was the one she would most like to. She hated sod's law. She really did.

* * *

Time drifted by rather slowly for her; food was consumed and she was careful with her drink. She couldn't afford to lose control, not when her magic was running so close to the surface. With the secrets she held, her nerves were frayed and her emotions wild, her magic was burning through her veins, controlled but barely. It was only Morgause's lessons in control which were saving her. And Merlin _still _wasn't here. Perhaps he wasn't coming she wondered, after all if he wasn't here by now why should he be coming at all? She made a faint signal and Gwen stepped forward from the faint shadows behind the High Table to refill her mistress' wine glass. That was Morgana's first refill. Normally that would have been Merlin's job but seeing as how he was on some errand for Arthur…

That was when he entered the hall, the faint buzz of conversations that filled the hall never pausing as he entered; his black hair tousled and askew, ears large, a huge smile on his face that seemed to radiate warmth but Morgana noticed it didn't reach his eyes, his troubled, clouded eyes. The same state they had been in two days ago when he had confronted her. She hated those eyes. The eyes that could strip away her defences, the eyes that could see her as her, the eyes that seemed to be able to see into her very soul. And they were locked on her own eyes, and she could feel the chill that seemed to emanate from them, the same chill that was mirrored in her own eyes. And she barely noticed that his smile had dimmed to also become fake because she was too consumed. Too consumed by the hate and resentment he stirred within her. He had lied to her and turned her away when she had been grasping for a hand to hold. She had been desperately reaching out for someone to help her and he had kept his silence. That stirred anger within her. But the bigger thing, the more important thing consumed her emotions now. He had poisoned her. He had tried to kill her when she had done nothing wrong. Why had he even done it? The injustice of the attack inflamed her rage.

And still her smile stayed the image of perfection. He walked right past her, walking across the room behind the high table to talk to Arthur. She kept her gaze on him for one second then turned back; it wouldn't do to be seen staring at him. It was then she realized something, he hadn't been astounded, hadn't been gaping, hadn't been stunned into submission by her beauty. And now she was seething. It felt like every time she made a move he was always there to counter her, always there to stop whatever it was… she paused her line of thought.

On the outside, Morgana was silent, her eyes fixed at the end of the hall, but inside her mind she was journeying back, back to every incident when Arthur had gone off to fight some beast who had been miraculously defeated at the last moment, and Merlin had always been there, always in the shadows, helping him, supporting him. Shielding him. With _Magic. _It all made sense to her now, all of it… he was Camelot's unseen protector, its last line of defence. The weapon in the dark. The weapon she had never seen, the weapon that had defeated every sorcerer to ever come against these walls. Including her.

She ground her teeth at how infuriating it was. Why couldn't she understand him? Why couldn't she, Morgana, mistress of manipulation, figure him out? Morgana had always _hated _unsolved puzzles, and Merlin was the most complex puzzle she had ever encountered. He had beguiled, deceived and tricked her as to his true nature from his first day here and still she couldn't understand… he had forced her into this world of grey without an anchor, without a stable figure, much as he shoved her into the world without a guide when one was so close at hand. And now she felt less alone, because there was another… another who had to hide his secret, someone she could use as her anchor, someone who would have no choice but to aide her in hiding his secret just as she'd have to aide him. Morgause had been a comfort, the only one to show her acceptance and understanding, but she hadn't lived in Camelot, hadn't lived under Uther's nose while struggling to hide her magic… but Merlin… Merlin had and that was a reassurance, a comfort. But again, she bitterly resented the comfort he had given her, resented it because he shouldn't comfort her, not when she hated him so… it made no sense, not even to her.

Her eyes fell to Sir Leon and the newly knighted Sir Osilon, they were eating merrily and joking with Merlin as he leaned over and refilled their tankards. He smiled goofily, mimed something and laughed along with them as they chuckled at his antics.

She gritted her teeth. How could someone be so different than they appeared? How could he pretend so well? How could he appear nothing more than a bumbling manservant but still be the powerful warlock she knew he was? How was it possible? How had she _not _noticed? He had made her look a fool, allowing her to babble on about how he didn't understand when all along… and the sight of him laughing and joking brought rage to the surface, simmering just beneath a thin layer of control and underneath it the curiosity, the curiosity to know how, when, where, _why_.

He was a _sorcerer. _They should be working together to take down Uther, not working to shield him and his son. They should never have been on different sides… and then she thought of all the atrocities she had seen, all the burnings and hate… why had he, he who had the power, never done anything? Never protected any of them? And like that her restraint fractured, magic surging between the crack and her blood rushed, her whole being on fire, she roughly rammed the power under control before anything could happen, but she could feel it struggling, fighting its way free. She had to leave now, before her anger, her panic and her frustration caused her to loose control.

She shot to her feet, all conversation dying immediately as the King's Ward stood. And her fake smile was still in place, they couldn't see that she was clawing for air, fighting her body. Uther turned from a conversation he was having with an Arthur who hadn't been so careful with his wine consumption.

"Morgana?"

Uther's voice held a tinge of concern, and that would have sent fury shooting through her, if she hadn't been, you know, close to losing control of a force that would get her killed, she wasn't strong enough yet to fight off Camelot's knights alone.

"I-I'm not feeling well, I think it may be one of my turns, I think I need to go lie down. Please excuse me."

Uther nodded uncertainly.

"Of course."

Morgana offered a weak smile before she left the hall, walking past Merlin's lithe, lanky form. She knew she hated him, knew she hadn't forgiven him… But she'd made a promise. A promise to him and in some ways to herself, she was _not _going to become a murderer.

She pushed the question from her mind as she left, hurrying to her bedchambers, and silently, watchfully Gwen followed her, her eyes having taken note of everything.

* * *

Morgana's head was resting on the bedpost of her bed, her mind in a mess, a whirlwind of confusion and fear. How could he stir such feelings? How could he affect her so that the strong, invincible Morgana would desert her and she'd flee the ball?

That was how Gwen found her.

Morgana raised her head as her maidservant entered her chambers. Normally she'd talk to Gwen, spill her secrets but this time, this time she couldn't and she found herself missing that, missing the bond they had shared, the bond now violated by secrets and deception.

"Have you taken ill, My Lady?"

Morgana offered her a smile.

"Just a headache, Gwen, I think I'll rest."

Gwen returned the smile.

"Are you sure, My Lady becau-"

"I am fine, Gwen. I just need to rest."

And now Morgana's tone was short, and hard as iron. Gwen blinked once owlishly in surprise before offering Morgana a curtsey.

"Of course, My Lady, I shall take my leave."

The sudden formality sent a pang through Morgana's heart but it was necessary, all she wanted to do was curl up in a ball on her bed and sleep, because while, even there she couldn't escape him at least there, there was the warmth of the dream as opposed to the coldness and confusion of reality.

Gwen left, closing the door softly.

Morgana sighed before collapsing onto the soft bed. She shifted onto her side. Her raven hair splayed out across the pillows, a dark, enigmatic shadow. Slowly she closed her eyes as the mental and emotional trauma she was feeling overcame her whirling mind and she sank into the soft embrace of darkness. Her last thought of blue eyes flecked with gold and the hate and resentment they inspired.

* * *

A/N: IMPORTANT NOTE: The first thing i want to say is that i have had an idea as far as this fic goes. Everytime this fic reaches gets a hundred reviews, i will post an EXTRA/BONUS chapter precisely seven days after the hundreth review comes in. I'll continue to write and update as normal but when i reach a hundred reviews i will add an extra chapter a week after the hundreth review comes in. So we're currently at 59 reviews, 41 more are needed for the bonus chapter, the faster i get to the 100 hundred review the faster the bonus chapter gets put out. I want to make clear that i am not withholding chapters or anything, i will just specifically write a chapter in celebration/reward of the hundreth review. So you get a bonus chapter for reching the hundred review mark and you get a bonus chapter for the two hundred review mark and so on. The last important thing i want to say is that in the future i may touch on adult themes. I won't write any of the scenes or anything but i may mention themes such as how bandits treated the captured women of that time... I basically would like all my reviewers and readers to tell me in their review if they want me to move the rating of this story to M or to not mention that part of reality as far as bandits' actions of the time are concerned.

Anyway, what do you think? R&R please, I really would love to know what you all think. However if you are going to be negative please tell me _why _you're being negative so I can improve. Thanks. Crisis.


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. What a surprise.

Title: What Could Have Been

Chapter: 4

Word Count For Chapter: 3,364

Author: Crisiscase

Summary: One false word, one angry outburst, one mistake and now she knows, now she knows he has magic… What could have been had Merlin confessed when he confronted Morgana in the Camelot crypts…

BETA: The Ashes Fan

A/N: Hey all. First off I want to thank all of you for being such wonderful people and sticking with me despite my lousy update times. I hope this one is worth it. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to publish this one. There has been a bit of chapter shifting going on and also, my plans have been totally thrown off by school. Just to clarify last chapters message, I am updating normally (however long that takes) but i will LAWAYS come hell or high water publish a chapter with a week or two of getting to a hundred review landmark. Is that clearer now? Now that i have mentioned how hectic life is i will get along to the actual comment. New Chapter then. And I just want to say that I finally was able to cut the words down back to the 3k mark. Maybe it was because of the fact that it was the first non-Mergana POV as well. This was a serious struggle to write, I hate having to start a new POV and having trouble with characterisation. Still, I hope it turned out okay. Without further words, welcome to the world of Gwen.

* * *

She was drowning in his eyes again. His cool blue eyes, so different to her warm brown ensnared her. She was entranced by those orbs. The emotions he tried to hide on his face showed there. They were doorways to his soul.

Guinevere had always loved looking into Arthur's soul. For two years now he had fascinated her. The way in which he could act so arrogant one second and yet caring the next, charmed and interested her. The thing with Arthur was that you had to look deeper. Sometimes much deeper. Beneath the arrogant exterior there was the boy who, as a child, had never had friends. That boy was reaching out, grasping for a friend that had never been there. The boy had been reaching for years. She had just never seen it. She had, like everyone else, assumed he was what he pretended to be. Simply an arrogant bully. Yes, he _was _arrogant, very arrogant actually, but he was more than that. So much more.

Arthur was different. She knew that much. He was brave, yes, arrogant, yes, but he had _never _treated her like dirt. He had made ridiculous and quite often wrong assumptions about her life such as her having more than one bed. But he had never made her feel small, never made her feel intimidated. Before him she never felt like she should be lying on the floor with all the other dirt. That was how some knights made her feel; in fact that was how most nobles in general made her feel. But Arthur wasn't like that. Instead of making her feel like dirt he made her feel like she could soar above the highest cloud, swim in the deepest lake or river. She felt alive.

But it could never be. She was a servant. She: expendable, unimportant. He: a Prince and heir to the throne. He was important, noble and valued. They were too different, it could never, would never, happen.

But despite this Gwen was still drowning in his eyes. The eyes that burned into hers with such intensity that she almost staggered backwards. Never before had she seen that kind of blazing emotion and certainly not when directed at her.

He was a prince. A prince she had fallen for. And god above had she fallen far. Much too far. For, no matter how many times she chastised herself; no matter how many times she told herself it couldn't happen, there was always a small nagging voice that said it _could _if she waited. The voice was one of hope, one of desperation. It was the voice of the little girl who wished to be rescued by a brave knight. She had found her knight; the problem was that she had found one who was completely off limits. Not that he would agree with her. She thought he loved her, was almost certain he did in fact. She knew he'd wait for her but still… was it actually possible? Was it possible for her to have what she truly wanted for the first time in her life? Was it possible to be with the man of her dreams? Was it possible to have Arthur? The man whose eyes even now pulled her into their depths. It really wasn't fair for him to have eyes like that she decided. How was she supposed to focus on her mistress with those eyes focused on her of all people?

With a cold rush akin to having a bucket of cold water poured over her, Gwen forced her eyes to Morgana. She had gotten so distracted by his eyes she hadn't been focusing. She had ignored her mistress. She just prayed Morgana hadn't requested anything from her during her preoccupation. Gwen wasn't confident she would have noticed if her mistress had said anything, she was so entranced by those eyes. She instinctually raised her gaze to meet his again and immediately she felt that feeling of drowning again. Quickly she averted her eyes, not missing the smile that curled the edge of Arthur's lips as he looked at her. She had to fight not to look back up at him.

With a will of iron grown from years of being a servant to the formidable Lady Morgana, Gwen stiffened her spine and focused solely on that same lady. However, from where she stood, behind Morgana, Gwen could see that she had barely touched her food. Most of the fare had been consumed by Uther or Arthur. Only a small amount of the breakfast the three royals had been eating had been eaten by Morgana. Her Lady seemed to be preoccupied, focused but also distracted. It was as if… oh. Gwen understood now.

Morgana was evidently focusing on something, something far more important and serious than breakfast. However with Morgana that could be anything from what to wear to the next ball to a person who needed to be broken out of jail. That was one thing that Gwen both loved and loathed about her mistress. She never knew what to expect from Morgana. Gwen was _sure _she had heard somewhere that there were some mistress' who merely spent the day sewing. What she would give to have a simple day of sitting around. With Morgana, there was always something to do. It was all well and good most of the time but sometimes… sometimes she would love to have a _normal _mistress.

Immediately Gwen felt a surge of guilt. Morgana had given her a job. One which paid well for a servant's fees. Gwen felt rotten with shame as she considered her disloyal thoughts. Morgana had been nothing but kind to her before the Ward's disappearance. But now… now something was off… in the last few days it had been slightly better between them but they weren't friends anymore… not really. Morgana shared nothing with her… not like they used to. Before they gossiped and laughed and smiled like true friends and Morgana trusted her. However since her disappearance the woman who had been her best and only friend beside Merlin was cold and distant.

Thinking of Merlin made Gwen look up. He was leaning against the wall a few feet behind Arthur's chair. He didn't seem to be focusing on anything; his eyes were not looking at Arthur or her. His gaze was locked straight ahead; his stare boring into the floor.

Gwen was puzzled. It wasn't like Merlin to be distracted. He looked so serious and morose. It wasn't as if he had any troubles to worry about, nothing more important than a few, okay many, chores to deal with so why did he appear so aged? Why did he look so wise and knowledgeable? It wasn't the Merlin she knew, it was a Merlin who was confident and knew everything. One who seemed to possess an unnatural air of power? Gwen muffled an un-ladylike snort. Merlin? Knowledge and power? Yeah right. As if that would ever happen. She really liked the man, but she knew him. Knew him well in fact. As she'd said the first time she'd met him he wasn't really one of those rough-tough-save-the-world kind of men.

"Gwen?"

The voice of the Lady Morgana broke Gwen out of her rambling, disjointed musings.

Quickly Gwen rushed forwards, her skirts billowing slightly as she moved to stand behind Morgana.

"Yes My Lady?"

Gwen's question was soft and whispered.

"I would like some more water please."

Gwen bowed her head slightly and with practised ease, poured her mistress the requested drink. The sound of the clear, clean water hitting the base of the tankard into which she was pouring, filled the room. Breakfast between the royals was quite often a quiet business. Arthur was hardly a morning person; he only really came to life when the sun was higher in the sky. Gwen knew that Morgana was similar. However judging from careful, considered observation Gwen knew Morgana was far better with mornings than Arthur.

Gwen hurriedly finished her task and then stepped back into the reassuring comfort of relative anonymity. As a servant the shadows were her home, she was usually invisible to any noble but Morgana. Well, Morgana and Arthur. But it was best not to think about the latter. That would lead her eyes to his and she wasn't sure she could pull away again.

Then Uther broke the silence.

"Arthur?"

Gwen watched as The Prince looked towards his father. She was safe to look again. She had thought he'd never stop staring.

"Yes Father?"

"Have you received word of Cenred's current position?"

Gwen silently watched as Arthur paused as if he was gathering his courage.

"I received a messenger late yesterday. He told me that our informant will meet me near the border. Do I have your permission to go and meet with him?"

Uther's face was troubled and Gwen couldn't help but notice how _tired _the king looked. After his recent 'affliction', which ended only seven or so days ago and the fact that he still had to lead a kingdom she supposed it wasn't really surprising.

"Must it be you? Why not send a knight in your place?"

Gwen watched as father and son gazed at each other for a second before Arthur shook his head.

"I wish to hear the report myself; I would trust the lives of our people to no-one else as far as Cenred is concerned."

"You will take two knights with you."

Gwen noticed the slight tightening of the skin around Arthur's eyes that betrayed his annoyance.

"Father, I intended to go disguised so that my presence would not be known and that my absence would not be noted. If I take knights, people will certainly note my passing."

Uther waved his gloved hand in a dismissive way.

"The knights will be discreet."

Gwen saw the light of defeat in Arthur's eyes as he gave.

"Very well, Father."

"Gwen? More water if you'd be so kind."

Morgana's request once more broke her out of her thoughts. Regretfully Gwen approached Morgana.

"I'm sorry my Lady you had the last of the water from this jug."

Gwen noticed Arthur look up from where he had been frowning down at the table, evidently thinking about his imminent departure.

"Merlin?"

The Prince's words rang with authority.

Merlin blinked once, stirring from his relaxed position leaning against the wall.

"Yes, Sire?"

"Refill Morgana's tankard."

Merlin's eyes glowed for a second, a kind of age old weariness and wisdom glowing in his eyes. Gwen was once again forced to think of that world-weary aura around him from earlier. She wondered if there was more to Merlin than she had thought. She quickly shook off the thought. He was her friend, a loyal and kind man and that was how she'd think until he proved her wrong. Not that she thought he would. That would be ridiculous. She knew Merlin; he was the only true friend she had left in Camelot what with Morgana not being herself and Arthur being 'complicated'. Of course she knew him.

"Of course, Sire."

Merlin took a jug from Arthur's side of the table, walked around the table and leant over. Gwen watched as Merlin hurriedly poured the drink, his shoulders were stiff as if he was tense. Why would he be tense? Gwen realised quickly. He had been asked to perform this duty and the king was sitting mere feet away. Uther had a notorious temper. Gwen felt sympathy for Merlin at this. She could empathize with his feelings.

The sound of cool water sliding into Morgana's tankard stopped ringing out into the silence as Merlin moved away. Gwen watched, amused, as he retook his position leaning against the wall.

Gwen shifted her attention back to Morgana. The King's Ward raised the tankard to her lips. But before she could take a drink Morgana lowered the tankard again. For one second Gwen saw pain flash across Morgana's face, he eyes seeming to flash beyond Arthur... to Merlin. The manservant's face contorted with guilt for a second. Then both emotions vanished. It had been so quick Gwen was sure she imagined it. She quickly glanced around the room wondering if anyone else had seen. Arthur and Uther hadn't… but looking once more at Merlin she could see his eyes were now narrowed in thought. It was as if… he knew why Morgana had winced, as if the pain had something to do with him. But why would he know? What was going on? When had her normally…well… normal… world, been turned upside down? And more to the point why hadn't she noticed? Gwen was sure something was going on.

* * *

Gwen entered Morgana's chambers hurriedly. A vial of sleeping draught in one hand and a tankard of water in the other.

She was met by the sight of a beautiful Morgana, bathed in moonlight, standing next to the window. The Lady was staring out into the night, peering into the courtyard below. Rain pounded the glass of the window and drummed the ground outside.

Gwen winced. She'd have to return home through that rain. She was _not _looking forward to the trip.

Gwen made her way across to her mistress, her pace measured and calm.

"My Lady?"

Morgana turned to her, a smile on her face.

"Yes, Gwen?"

Gwen offered a smile and placed the objects on the table.

"Here are the things you wanted. Gaius said to simply take the usual amount of the sleeping draught and be careful as usual."

Gwen smiled as Morgana nodded in understanding.

"Will that be all for tonight My Lady?"

Gwen was relieved when Morgana nodded. Today had been rather confusing and she couldn't wait to put it behind her.

"Thank you, My Lady. Sleep well."

"I will try. You sleep well also."

"I will, My Lady."

Gwen left the room and donned her cloak.

As she was moving down the corridor Gwen glanced out of the window. She was curious to see what had had Morgana staring out of her window with such intensity.

Below rain still attacked the courtyard but there were two figures in the middle of the area. Merlin and Arthur. They were shifting a bale of arrows into the covering of the castle's halls as she watched they lifted the bale and hauled it inside. Gwen stood there for a few minutes trying to figure out why that sight had interested her mistress so. After the few minutes Gwen shook the thoughts away. She needed to get home.

She turned to go, casting one last glance outside. She winced. The rain was going to make a mess of her clothes tonight.

* * *

The wind whipped around her, making the thin, handmade purple cloak billow behind her. The cloak had been gifted to her by the Lady Morgana; it was the only well made cloth within her wardrobe.

The cloak was yet another reminder of Morgana's kindness, her generosity. Gwen felt like she'd failed. Something was going on, her mistress had some sort of secret and Gwen had no idea what kind of secret, nor even where to start in finding out. Asking Morgana would get her nowhere either. Oh _that _conversation would go well. If her Lady didn't want to say, she wouldn't say, and no king, queen or emperor would change her mind. There was no swaying the Lady Morgana when her mind was made up. You might as well try and stop a charging Questing Beast.

Gwen shivered as rain pounded against her cloak and quickened her pace. The night was chilly today and the rain seeping down her collar and thence down her back was not helping. The sooner she got out of this thrice accursed weather the better.

The rain thumping down onto the street gave her steps a counter beat, a rapid, disjointed rhythm. There was the sound of a faint splash as Gwen accidentally kicked up the edge of a puddle. Gwen could feel the uncomfortable chill pressing in upon her. The rain battering down sent water seeping through the cloak despite the quality of its make. Gwen shuddered as water ran down her right arm.

She broke into a very brisk walk and tried to cover her body as best she could with the now slightly leaking cloak.

She was beyond relieved when she reached her home.

The small, squat, building wasn't much to look at but it was better than some of the other dwellings within the lower town. Added to that was the fact that she could still afford to keep it by herself and Gwen was rather attached to the little building.

Gwen entered quickly and rapidly took off her cloak. With a deftness gained from years of practise she rung her cloak out into a pot and then hung the cloak over a fire which she lit with ease. Opening the door Gwen instantly hurled the water out into the street. She slammed the door as soon as she had hurled the water.

The fire roared merrily in its thin grating. Sighing Gwen moved to change into a rough homespun grey nightgown.

When that was done and her clothes were drying over the fire Gwen climbed into her bed and relaxed. The day's tensions slid away from her as she laid there, her worries and concerns blending into quiet contentment.

That was when she realised it. How could she have not noticed before? How could she have been so blind? How could she have not paid attention? Morgana's strange attitude. Merlin acting confident and knowledgeable. The strange pause before Morgana drunk her water. The water Merlin had poured. The way in which Morgana had been staring outside with such intensity. Staring at _Merlin. _How had she missed it? She finally had her answer! She'd solved the mystery! It was all so _obvious!_

Merlin and Morgana were in love!

* * *

A/N: Oh Gwen you don't know how wrong you are. I want to say right here that I am not bashing Gwen in any way. I actually think that it's quite a logical conclusion drawn from the way they are behaving. Anyway I know this wasn't a wonderful chapter or anything. This was basically a character setting chapter. I needed to set Gwen up for future chapters. I also needed to portray how the Mergana interaction would look from an outsider's point of view and this was my way of doing it. So… other than the lack of Mergana POV what did you think?

Oh and in case you thought I'd forgotten... MERRY CHRISTMAS!


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